


One Person's Boredom is Another Person's Fun

by GinAndShatteredDreams



Series: Maybe It's Not Too Late [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Parties, Sensory Overload, Wild Party, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9207284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinAndShatteredDreams/pseuds/GinAndShatteredDreams
Summary: *Hints of Asexual FiddauthorFord attempts to meet Fiddleford and his girlfriend at a post-exam party and finds himself overwhelmed.  Later in life Jheselbraum helps him enjoy a social gathering for the first time, giving him the resolve to continue his journey.This flashback is technically part of the Maybe It's Not Too Late AU but it doesn't reference any events of it so it can stand as a one-shot.  But, it will probably be relevant if you're interested in reading the missing/deleted scenes one-shot I'm putting together to post sometime in the future.Warnings:  Drug use by background characters, drug mention, sensory overload, things that most people consider fun or desirable are described from a POV where they are grotesque and/or physically/mentally painful.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Maybe It's Not Too Late](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973243) by [GinAndShatteredDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinAndShatteredDreams/pseuds/GinAndShatteredDreams). 



> A few OC's were created for this as background characters. Meg is not necessarily the woman Fidds married but if you want to imagine she is, that's fine by me. 
> 
> Also, the dialogue in the scene at the college party is intentionally confusing. (It's basically what going to a party is like for me  
> -__-.)

**~40 years ago - Backupsmore**  
  
Stanford’s pen scribbled between the lines of a notebook, his curly cursive filling the backs and fronts of nearly every dogeared page with revised notes from a long day of lectures.  He barely paused when the dorm’s door creaked open.  Still writing and without so much as a glance up at the stringy young man sidestepping a teetering stack of books, he offered a friendly, “good evening, Fidds,” to his roommate.  
  
“Evening?  Ford, it’s 6 am.  The sun’s peekin’ over the horizon again,” he said with the exasperation of a mother who’d spent the last few years trying to get her kids to sleep at a decent time.    
  
“Oh.  Um.  Oops?”  His scribbling ceased and he massaged the soreness of a hand curled too long in one position.  He squinted at his watch through an ignored ache in his eyes.  With some hesitation, he asked as if he had no right to an answer,  “Where have you been that you’re just now getting in?”  
  
“Welp, ya know how I had that date with Megan last night?  We ended up goin’ ta her apartment ta watch TV and kinda-sorta-fell asleep onna sofa,” he answered with a sheepish grin, “Nothin’ fun even happened ‘tween us.  We were just plum-tuckered out, I guess.”  
  
“Yes I imagine you were.  Exams are right around the corner and all…” Ford answered, shrugging and stifling a yawn.  He tugged his khaki coat around himself, shivering as sleepiness washed over him.  He lifted the nearest of three cups and glared at the shriveled teabag in its stained and otherwise empty bottom like it had a personal vendetta against him.  
  
“Yeah.  Oh hey, are ya’ gonna go to Cathy’s post-exam party?”  Fiddleford asked before flopping onto the squeak of broken springs that pretended to be his bed.    
  
“She’s having a party?” Ford asked, peeking over textbook towers to catch a glimpse of his roommate only to find him an ~~adorable~~ exhausted, disheveled mess.  His rounded spectacles hung to one side over his elongated nose, his golden brown hair tipped to the left in matted tangles, and his paisley shirt tails hung in wrinkles over his equally crinkled bell bottoms.  
  
“Yeah,” he replied, glancing up at the ~~beautiful~~ bloodshot eyes awaiting an answer.  “There’s no formal invitations or nothin’.  Just bring a bottle or a six-pack or a few'a them th'are ‘happy-fun-time’ brownies an’ join in,” he added with a carefree wave of his hand, “Ya should come with Meg an' I.”  
  
“Maybe,” he said, groaning as he stood and stretched, careful not to trigger a tsunami of notes and books.  “Maybe I will.  It would be interesting to see what all the fuss is about when it comes to parties.”  
  
“Wait…  You ain’t never been ta a party?”  Fiddleford asked with an incredulous lilt as he watched Ford step carefully over a stack of binders and notebooks, edging closer to his bed.    
  
“No,” he answered, giving a shy shrug before bending to clear off a space big enough to at least sit down on his paper-strewn bed.  Maybe he could still squeeze in a nap before his first class, he hoped.      
  
Fiddleford laid on his side, not even bothering to remove his shoes and pressed for further details, “Not even birthday parties as a kid?”  
  
“I…” he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and said simply, “I didn’t really make friends very well.”  
  
“Oh,” he muttered, instantly feeling a pang in his gut for inadvertently dragging up his roommate’s insecurities, “Well some kids are mean.  By this time, I hope they’ve grown up a bit and gained some sense’a the world around ‘em.  But yeah, ya’ should stop by.”  
  
“Thanks for telling me about it,” Ford said softly, turning to hide any view of his hand as he reached to switch off his lamp.  “Good night, Fidds…  or er…  morning I guess.”  
  
“Yeah somethin’ like that," Fiddleford chuckled, "Happy sleepin’ fer the few minutes we got.”    
  
  
**A few nights later - Cathy’s Party**  
  
As Ford neared Cathy’s house, (conveniently left under her care while her parents took a romantic getaway in France for two weeks) he realized more and more how overdressed he was.  In a sea of torn denim, tie-dye, and loose, long hair, his short, upswept curls, pressed slacks, and the galaxy print tie he’d thought of as whimsical (but now regretted to the point of slipping it off and tucking it into his pocket) stood out like a giraffe in a fluffle of bunnies.  As he neared the thump of music and clamor of chatter, he shifted the bottle of wine he’d toted along from one arm to the other and pulled his shirttails out with hopes that he could excuse his appearance by saying he’d just come from work or a meeting with a professor.  
  
A puff of sweet-scented smoke greeted him at the door.  He coughed and covered his nose, the smell irritating his eyes and dropping him into dizziness.   _Why do people like this?_  He wondered, wishing it wouldn’t be considered rude to press his hands to his ears and block out the thumping pain of every voice shouting over each other and simultaneously drowned out by drums and bass and the squeal of a guitar in a song that could have been quite good if it wasn’t blaring so loudly over cheap speakers.  But still, he resolved to try.  He would stay and try to talk to people and try to understand why this was something everyone else enjoyed.  
  
He weaved through the crowd, looking for Fiddleford and his girlfriend to apologize for being a little late.  In the awkward rainbow of lights, he found couples draped over the sofa and huddled together in chairs, lips locked as they sat in each other’s laps.  He cringed at the sight; another thing he couldn’t see the appeal in.  The last thing he wanted was someone else’s tongue in his mouth.  He shivered visibly at the thought of swapping saliva and the texture and motion and the slurping sound it made and _ugh!_  
  
He finally spotted Fiddleford’s pink and lime green paisley shirt near an archway leading to the kitchen.  He dodged between people, keeping his eyes mostly fixed on his roommate and his girlfriend, their hands intertwined as they chatted with another couple.  Ford paused for a moment, wondering what it was like to hold someone’s hand or drape an arm over their shoulders.  Though he wasn’t a fan of exchanging bodily fluids, some part of him still wondered what it was like to have a relationship…   _No.  You’re fine.  You don’t need it.  Keep studying and someday you’ll show the world you’re more than a freak ~~that no one wants to be around~~. _  With a calming breath he steadied himself and continued forward only to see Fiddleford part ways with Megan and turn toward the kitchen.  
  
_He’ll be back_ , he thought and took a seat in a tipsy, wooden chair beside a drooping ficus.  Conversations overlapped in his ears.  He couldn't prioritize just one to listen to.  Instead he tried to hear them all, interested in what each person had to say, wondering how they all interacted with each other so well, listening to their quickly delivered jokes and retorts, their stories of times past, and their inside jokes with one-another.  Within moments his head ached, his brain overwhelmed with input and the colorfully lit room began to feel distant and surreal.    
  
The voices blurred together and he failed to translate anyone's words into coherent thoughts.  He looked down, trying to focus on the bottle of wine cradled in his hands, suddenly regretting it as much as his tie as considered the beer cans in everyone else’s grips.  He set it down beside the chair, half-debating on opening it and drinking it straight from the bottle himself until a high-pitched voice shouted over the crowd and music, cutting through the blur of his half-shutdown state.  
  
“Meg!  I’m glad you could make it,” Cathy, a brown-haired pixie of a woman wearing faded denim bell bottoms and a shirt with wide, flowing sleeves, waved and parted the crowd to greet her.  
  
"Hey Sarah, how'd you do on your biology exam?" Ford tried to block out the stout woman speaking beside him but was suddenly just as interested in a random stranger's test experience.   _No Stop.  One at a time._  He struggled to focus back on Meg's answer, watching the light swirl across her floral print dress, wondering what colors it really was.  Yellow and green, maybe?   
  
“Yeah.  It’s been a rough year.  But it’s over and we made it through exams, win or lose!”  
  
Another conversation caught his ear from a group emerging from the kitchen, "Whoa, did you see Jason's new tattoo?"    
  
_No.  Who's Jason?  And what is it?_  Ford didn't know why he needed to know.   _Ugh stop._  He turned back to Meg and Cathy at the mention of Fiddleford's name.  
  
“Sure did!  Where’s Fiddleford?  Don’t tell me he let you come alone.”  
  
"I did alright on the multiple choice but blanked out completely on the essay!"  Ford couldn't help but listen to the woman named Sarah's answer.   _Aw, that's a shame.  I hate test anxiety..._  he thought but it was too late to join in on their conversation.  Besides, why would they care about some random stranger's input?    
  
_Shut up, freak.  Who asked you?  You're so annoying._   _No one cares what you think.  No one wants to hear about your weirdo, sci-fi monsters and stupid nerd facts._  
  
_Stop it.  That was a long time ago.  I know better now.  I know to just keep my mouth shut about that.  Talk to someone.  Act like they do...  Oh who am I kidding.  I can't even dress like they do.  I'm not...  what do they call it?  Cool? enough.  I wouldn't look right in clothing like that nor sound right speaking the way they do.  I'd look like a fool pretending to be something he's not._  
  
“No way," Meg's voice again.  He turned back to the two women chatting in the archway.  "He's too much of a sweetie to do something like that.  He just went to grab a few of the beers he stuck in the fridge earlier."  
  
"It's his girlfriend's name!"   _The tattoo?  Who's tattoo was it, again?  Oh dear._  "He's gonna regret that when he finds out she's been going out with Steve and Greg!" _Oh that's not good._  
  
"Hey, Tina, you got a light?"   _Oh no, please don't smoke that right here..._  Ford stifled a cough as a man with long brown hair did exactly that.  
  
His eyes burned and watered but through his discomfort, he heard Meg's voice again, "Fidds told me he invited his roommate too but I haven’t seen him here yet.”  
  
“Oh no, he invited that dork?  Ugh.  He’s such a downer.  A real prude!  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without his nose stuck in a book.”  
  
_Eeww!  Don't let him touch you!  You might grow extra fingers on your face or something!_  
  
_No.  Stop it.  That was a long time ago.  That was not this Cathy...  We were kids and she didn't know any better and I shouldn't have tried to reach for her hand.  That only works for the men in the movies, right?_  
  
“Yeah he is a bit…  odd," Meg added, though at least she tried to sound nice about it, like it was an observation rather than an insult.  "Fidds, bless his heart, is always trying to include him in on things.  I think he’s just trying to be nice.  But I swear that guy has something against fun," and the niceness was gone, shifting into a downtrodden tone, like she didn't want to say something unkind but couldn't help being bothered by it.  "Everything’s always too loud, or too raunchy, or too crowded, or too smoky.”  
  
“Honestly he’s such a bore.  I don’t know how Fiddleford can stand spending so much time in that stuffy old dorm room with him.  You gotta get out and live a little, right?”  
  
“Right!”  
  
Ford shrank back, wishing the plant beside him had been watered a bit more diligently so it could provide better cover.   _They’re right.  I shouldn’t have come here._  He waited a few moments, hoping the two women would relocate without spotting him so he could plot his escape.  His chest clenched as his route was blocked in the worst possible way.  Fiddleford had returned with a can in each hand and held one out to Meg.  Ford couldn’t huddle any further into the corner beside the ficus and opted for dropping his head into shadow, his arteries and veins throbbing as the group walked by.    
  
Fiddleford paused and looked back, swearing he saw a brown-haired man in a button-down shirt and pressed slacks but found the corner empty.  He shrugged and thought, _yeesh.  I must be gittin’ a lil’ high on the fumes in here.  Guess he musta’ decided not ta’ come after all.  Must’a crashed after exams or somethin’._  
  
  
**Later that night - BUM Mostly Bug-free Housing  
**   
Ford showered the moment he returned to his dorm building.  Thanks to the party, the showers were blissfully empty and he took full advantage, standing under the hot sputter from a calcium crusted shower head, ignoring the mold creeping up the grout lines in the corner for as long as he could stomach it.  As much as he washed and breathed in the scents of soap and shampoo and steam, he couldn’t rid his nose of he stinging odor of smoke and booze.    
  
The silence of his room felt like pure paradise, healing the thumping of his ears in the aftermath of the assault to his senses.  Even so, he couldn't help wondering, _Why can’t I just enjoy that like everyone else does?  Why can’t it be fun to me?_  
  
He breathed in deeply, quelling his emotions and quieting his mind.  Meditation was something he did enjoy, something he thought was more than fun, something relaxing and fulfilling.  It had been far too long since he’d had the time to spend more than a minute in a meditative state, though if he focused diligently enough on studying, he could reap some of the same benefits from it.  Or better yet, drawing.  It had been months since he’d been able to lose himself in a sketch.  Sure, he doodled every day on his notes during lectures but it wasn't the same as being able to hyper-focus on an intricate drawing for hours on end.  For that very purpose, he’d bought a new leather bound sketchbook with some of the extra money he’d earned working in the campus bookstore at the start of the year, but he hadn’t even cracked it open yet.   _Maybe I should inquire about the availability of a visual art or art history class..._  
  
With that thought, he steadied a stack of books and pried the slightly dusty but otherwise untouched sketchbook out from beneath them.  He cleared off his desk, filing all of his notes and notebooks on the shelf above and set the scarlet book on its scraped and nicked surface.  He slowly opened it, breathing the scent of its beige paper deeply, unaware of the small smile it brought to his lips.  The spine creaked as the first crease pressed into the leather and the first crack formed in the glue.  He left three pages blank to fill in with random personal ramblings later and stared at the fourth page for nearly thirty minutes before laying down a faint pencil line, erasing it and starting again.  He didn’t even know what he was drawing as his pencil moved across the paper in squiggles and scribbles but he figured something was better than nothing.  As minutes turned to hours and one page turned into five, he began tracing groups of spirals and defining shapes into alien figures, monsters, dragons, and a few comical caricatures.    
  
“Stanford?”  
  
Fiddleford’s voice caught him by surprise.    
  
“Hmm.  Oh Fiddleford.  Hello.  Welcome back.”  
  
“Wow, that must be some drawin’ yer chippin’ away at.  Ya didn’t even hear the door or the first three times I said hello.”  
  
“Oh sorry.  I get a little carried away sometimes,” he replied, his pencil dragging more slowly and stiffly across the page, “So how was the party” he asked, his foot assuring him that the mostly empty wine bottle was hidden well enough behind a stack of binders under his desk.    
  
“Eh, just another wild party.  People cuttin' loose an' havin fun.  Drunks jumpin’ off the roof an’ makin idjits ‘a themselves.  Bunch’a people gettin high an’ thinkin’ they got the answers ta the universe when all they really got was a case ‘a the giggles an a couple boxes ‘a pizza.  And ‘course a bunch’a people randomly makin’ out all over the place.  Even Meg kinda wanted ta get a little more intimate tha’re than I was willin’ ta git,” his voice trailed off near the end of his party review.  It gained audibility as his train of thought shifted.  “So, I guess ya decided not ta go?”  
  
“…Yeah.  Seems these all-nighters finally caught up with me.  I couldn’t actually sleep, though, and I missed having time to sketch so I thought it might be a good way to relax and unwind a bit.  Besides, I,” he took a deep breath, “I’m not the party type.  I didn’t want to be a bore.”  
  
“Aw, you ain’t borin’.  Iff’n ya ask me, parties like that are kinda borin’.  But everyone likes different things.  I don't mind bein' out with people none, just wish it could be more like our Dungeons, Dungeons, an' More Dungeons campaigns.  But ya know, more'n anything, I’d rather be back here a-workin’ on my computer-ma-jigs.”  
  
“Really?”  Ford asked, trying to subdue a grin, his eyes darting away from Fiddleford's to avoid the emotions that sliver of validation unearthed.    
  
“Yeah.  I jus’ go ta parties ‘cause Meg likes ‘em an’ it’d be mean a’ me ta make her go alone.  I really like her a lot an’ all an' I know it's good we got's some differences ta balance each other out, but sometimes I think it’d be nice ta’ find someone who’d rather stay in where it’s quiet.  But, I guess got each other fer that, eh?  Good ta’ have a friend who likes the same sorta thing.”  
  
“Yes.  Yes it is,” Ford answered, allowing his lips to lift into a fond smile.  
  
  
**Several years later - Dimension 52**  
  
After a week of drifting in and out of a post-op, painkiller induced haze, Stanford found himself fully lucid once more.  The line of stitches across the side of his head still ached but he could tolerate it with a less potent and thankfully, non-hallucinogenic painkiller.  He'd seen enough strangeness in the reality of his travels, he didn't need more conjured up from his own mind.  He'd already showered, a heavenly experience after years of spotty personal hygiene, at best, and washed what little remained of his hair and the itchy stubble already growing back over his scalp and around a surgical incision several inches long.  It was refreshing to dress himself in the new black slacks and turtleneck Jheselbraum had provided for him.  Even better was the light and airy as a cotton sheet but tough as tempered steel armor she'd created for him.  As long as he wore it beneath his turtleneck, he'd never have to worry about a fatal wound to his midsection again.  
  
Just as he'd fastened his knee gear, a knock tapped at his door.  His socked feet patted against the plush, maroon carpet and he reached for the gilded door latch.    
  
Jheselbraum ducked to enter the room and kneeled to greet the comparatively short human.  When she spoke, her soothing clarity was music to his ears, "Stanford.  You have recovered quite well.  I daresay you are ready to continue your journey.  I hope you don't mind that I have prepared a small farewell celebration and hope you are feeling up to attending tonight."  
  
"Oh, thank you, that's very thoughtful of you," he replied, wondering if she could sense his trepidation and faltering gratitude.  He _was_ thankful that she'd thought of him, thankful to have been directly invited, but he hated himself for immediately trying to think of ways to tell her he couldn't make it.   _No.  You have to go.  It's only fair.  She's done so much for you.  You can handle this.  Maybe it won't be like those college parties._  
  
Later that evening, he held his breath as he neared the temple's grand hall.  He'd spent the day with Jheselbraum, listening to her stories of Bill's treachery across the multiverse and growing more and more determined to defeat him with every violent and heartrending tale.  They'd parted ways only a few moments earlier to prepare themselves for the night's festivities but Ford had forgotten to ask about proper attire.  He could only hope the dark grey, nearly floor-length coat she'd gifted to him was appropriate.  He'd strapped every weapon in his possession on under it regardless of social rules, unwilling to be anywhere without some form of protection.  In fact, he'd stuffed his pockets full of everything he could call his own in case anything went wrong and he needed to run.    
  
With one last deep breath, he craned his neck, gazing up at the towering opalescent doors standing open, allowing an orchestra of harmonious interdimensional instruments to lilt through the halls.  The sounds melted together, tuned perfectly with one another, the volume adjusted to fade into the background.   _This is nothing like those parties,_ he thought.  Inside the cavernous meeting hall, a small gathering of mismatched creatures, refugees and outcasts from various worlds, mingled together in even smaller groups.  Five sat around a folding table playing Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.  Three chatted near a table of sweets and snacks.  Another four sat on the floor playing a card game and the remainder stood around the room's perimeter, gazing at the art collection adorning the walls or sat on velvet benches, reading or writing in journals much like the ones Ford kept himself.    
  
_This isn't bad at all.  It' actually looks...  fun._    
  
He looked down at his dark, travel and battle-appropriate attire and back up at the group, finding them in various forms of armor, long multi-pocketed coats, much like his, and draped in buckles and straps, ready to flee or fight at a moment's notice.  For the first time, he had something in common with everyone in the room.  They'd all faced a life on the run from Bill and his henchmaniacs and they all wished for an end to the dictatorship of tyranny he tried to pass off as freedom.  
  
Though Stanford thoroughly enjoyed the ability to step into any conversation or activity, to feel accepted, to be unafraid of judgement, he still could not focus on one voice.  He tried to listen to every creature talking all at once, tried to listen in to the card game and the Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons campaign.  With every sound layering over each other in his head, with the chatter of his brain trying to take in and process everything he overheard, he knew he needed to step out for a moment to catch his breath.  He excused himself, rushing to the hall for a break.  As he sped through the doors, he nearly ran into Jheselbraum, her robes brushing against him as he halted his escape.    
  
"Oh my," she said, bending to speak to him, "Overwhelmed already?"  
  
"I...  I just needed a moment...  I mean..." he sighed, knowing any lie would be a waste of breath.  "Yes," his head hung low, his final answer directed more at the marble floor than his host.  
  
"Try switching off your Dimensional Translator or tuning it to only one language," she suggested, three of her eyes offering him a wink as he looked back up.  
  
With eyes widened by the revelation, he turned and followed her back into the grand hall.  She offered him a tall glass of something that swirled and glittered and he accepted, fascinated by its galactic appearance.  
  
"Try this.  It's called time sand.  It's non-alcoholic but rather soothing to the nerves."  
  
"Oh really?" he asked, his eyes crossed in amazement as he gazed into his glass.  
  
"Yes.  It's potent enough to sooth Time Baby's worst tantrums," she explained with an airy laugh.  
  
He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped finding the texture a little like the Pitt Cola of his home world and the taste akin to fruit punch.  Instantly, he felt the anxious knot release its hold on his chest.  As its effects strengthened, he was amazed as energy returned to him.  He suddenly felt able to join in on one of the games, like he might be able to keep up with the conversation, or at least admire his surroundings with the attention they deserved.  
  
Jheselbraum gave him a friendly nod before addressing her other guests.  In her absence, he worked up the courage to ask if his character could be worked into the Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons campaign.  The group smiled and agreed that they'd "meet" him at the town tavern and invite him to join their quest.  At first, he still tried to listen to Jheselbraum and the others while planning his moves but with his mind stretching in so many directions, he could barely stutter out a coherent sentence.  He steadied himself and said, "Pardon me a moment, I need to adjust my translator."  He tapped a few buttons on the watch-like device and the ambient chatter shifted from English to sounds and syllables with little to no meaning to him.  It blended with the music, dropping into the background and he was finally able to focus on the game and his new friends.  He used the trick all night, shifting from language to language and excusing himself only twice for a quiet break, once when the mingling smells of food became too strong and again when he'd started picking up on words in other languages, his focus straying and straining to try to translate them.  Otherwise, he'd greatly enjoyed discussing the aesthetics of a surrealist artwork displayed between two columns and how the columns themselves followed the Corinthian style from his home world.    
  
The next morning, when he awoke in a new dimension, he resolved to learn some of the languages he'd heard that night, frustrated by his inability to understand them without his translator.  Some part of him still wanted to hear what he'd missed out on.  Some part of him knew that he'd ruin social gatherings for himself again by needing to know more.  And some part of him didn't care.  For the first time and possibly also the last, he'd actually enjoyed himself in a social setting.  He was certain most people back in his home dimension would have thought the celebration was uneventful or perhaps even boring, but to him and the other attendees, it was an oasis in an unforgiving desert.  To him, it was the gathering he'd always wished he could be a part of, even if he still held some amount of mental and sensory overload.   
  
The irony of the situation, however, did not escape him.  If it hadn't been for their common enemy, he may never have met any of his new acquaintances and friends nor found further common ground with them.  Though he cherished their company and simply having known them even for a short while, he would have given it up to have never endangered his own world with Bill's presence or possibly their worlds if the demon gained strength and a foothold in a stable world because of his mistakes.  He would have gone back to being the lonely hermit in the woods, frustrated with a dead end in his research.  But where would that leave them?  Was it necessary to endanger his world in order to serve a greater purpose?  Could he really find a way to bring an end to Bill?  For his new friends?  For his home world?  For Fiddleford and himself?  For the life he'd lost?  For Sta-?  For everyone.  For sheer spite and vengeance.  For finding some purpose to his failure of a life.  
  
_I will or I'll die trying._

**Author's Note:**

> *This is partly a personal vent piece because I sometimes get tired of some people thinking that "it's as easy as getting out" for a lot of people who prefer being home/alone. Sometimes we prefer those things because it's physically painful and overloads our senses to be out. Sometimes we need medication to be able to handle being out. It doesn't mean we're boring or hate fun. It just means that different things are fun to us and sometimes even those things can leave us exhausted and overloaded. It also doesn't mean we inherently hate ALL social gatherings. We just need the right type of gathering and sometimes those are hard to find. And sometimes even those are a lot to take in even though we do enjoy them.


End file.
